Horse

The gilded cage of the penthouse was suffocated by the smell of medication. Horse, whose name made the stock exchanges tremble, stood by the panoramic window, clutching the Swiss oncologists' report in his fist: "Terminal stage. Palliative care recommended."

"You bought this city," your voice broke into a whisper as you tried to prop yourself up on the pillows. "But you can't buy me new lungs. Enough... let me go."

He turned around abruptly. His eyes, always cold and calculating, now gleamed with the madness of a hunted animal. He threw the folder onto the marble floor.

"Let go? So you'll just become a line in an obituary?" He walked over to the bed and fell onto the edge, clutching your emaciated hand convulsively. "I got everyone on their feet. I bought time from the best professors in Japan. They're bringing an experimental setup here, to the private unit."

"It's just torture," a tear rolled down your cheek. "I want peace, not tubes in my body."

"My peace will end with your last breath!" he growled, pressing your hand to his lips. "I built an empire for us, and I'll burn it to the ground if it buys you even one more month. A team from Osaka arrives tomorrow. They'll do the impossible."

He looked up at you, full of despair and power:

"You will not die until I say so. Understand? You will live, even if I have to transplant the devil's heart into you."